


take me to church

by sannwise



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Catholic School, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe Where The Rising Doesn't Happen, Amy is fabulous as always, Angst, Bullying, Coming Out, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Attempted Suicide, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kieren is a bit punky, M/M, Minor Character Death (Mentioned), Romance, Simon being an idiot, So many triggers I'm so sorry, So much angst, Violence, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3341831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sannwise/pseuds/sannwise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon Monroe has spent seven years of his life trapped inside St Mary's Catholic School for Boys. He wakes, learns, prays, sleeps - and repeats. Sinking deeper into the routine, Simon shies from his inner struggles and tries to push down his emerging sexuality. Among the black-robed sea of students, he is best at keeping his head down and forgetting that there is anyone else around him in the first place. Other students can prod and poke at the surface, but he’ll never face his real insecurities and that suits him just fine.</p><p>Only it's hard to see homosexuality as a sin when Kieren Walker arrives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I haven't written anything in agesss.
> 
> I wrote this for the [In The Flesh Mini Bang](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/itfminibang2015) and had had the idea since last summer (ever since I became obsessed with the song by Hozier) so I'm glad I took the time to actually write it all down. Basically I was interested in exploring Simon's turmoil over choosing between his faith and Kieren and this au happened. I was also really interested in exploring their dynamic of coming to terms with yourself and how it might have played out had it been Kieren helping Simon, rather than the other way around like it is in the show. So yeah, enough talk.
> 
> This was also in collaboration with the artist snipperss who has done some absolutely wonderful artwork for it [here](http://snipperss.tumblr.com/post/111124609828/v-2-because-i-spilled-tea-on-the-first-one-w) and I hope you all enjoy the bumpy ride?
> 
> Edit: this fic now has a playlist! The amazing monsternist made it and you can find it [here](https://8tracks.com/monsternist/birdcage-religion)

 

_whirl up, sea -_

_whirl your pointed pines,_

_splash your great pines_

_on our rocks_

 

He had once dreamed that to be alone was the worst kind of torment.

As a child, he had wondered among the tangled groves, grass yellowing beneath his mud-splattered feet, calling a name he himself was not entirely aware of. His hands groped in the dark for the familiar embrace, blind and stricken dumb from the pure want of their company. Whose company, he had not been sure of; only that he desperately needed it.

When he had grown older, puberty coiling inside his body all venom and cold, the mirage of the dream would fade when their hands circled him. The comfort the warmth would bring to his person elated his very soul, every nerve ending burning beneath his skin, and relief would flood through. Yet, the shoulders were too broad, the chest too heavy, for a woman. He would wake with only the sense of their absence, the sheets empty. The first time his dream emerged, he retched and shivered in the paling dawn, limbs convulsed and twisted upon themselves.

Now he wandered alone. He thought it his punishment for the dreams he could not control.

"Amen."

The choir began, the crowd dispersed, and Simon sat alone. Between his fingers, he twirled the piece of paper he'd found in his bible that morning. Whistling in the rafters, the breeze seemed to chuckle at him and he bent his head further. His blue eyes stared down, blank, hard, cold. Crumpling it in his fist, he let the paper flutter from his fingers and stood. He crossed himself.

Leaving the little chapel, he headed straight for his locker on the far side of campus, breathing in the chill winter morning and straightening his back. The grey sky stretched above him, yawning and bleak, as the tangled trees formed stretched silhouettes. The old red brick buildings enveloped his vision as the rain pattered down, their cool drops dashing across his hair occasionally. The corridors bustled, chatter clamouring in his ears as he pressed himself into his locker, bodies brushing past. Once his books were in hand, pressed up against his chest like armour, Simon broke into the crowd of early lessons, disappearing among the black robes.

Anonymity. That was his defence. To fade, to blend, to conform. If they didn't know your depths, if all they knew was your face, then they had nothing to hurt you. God would judge.

Classic Catholic boys' school paranoia, Simon told himself. It wasn't him they were targeting but rather their own terrifyingly small minds. They wanted a reaction. It wasn't like he was going to give them one, pulling his shoulders back and tilting his chin once seated at his desk.

A spitball bounced off his back and various sniggers erupted behind him. _It's not like we're seventeen or anything_ , he thought, internally rolling his eyes.

The day wore on. Overcast to clear blue. Minutes to hours. Murmured harmonies. Cries of prayer as leaves collected in the square. Blurs; raw, grating. Simons drew himself deep in the monotony.

"Monroe, read aloud this next poem please."

Eyes dragging across the passage on the blackboard, Simon stood tall with his mouth open ready.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond on snow. I am sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die."

Simon clamped shut his mouth, turning instead to the new voice at the open doorway. Blue eyes locked with brown. The air did not crackle. The world did not fall away. There was only the soft, sick tug to Simon's stomach. The twist.

_Homo_.

With a hitched breath, Simon dropped to his seat, turning furiously towards the board. Pushing everything away from his mind to steady his heart. Steps seemed to echo through the silent classroom, all eyes drawn to the newcomer as he made his way to the front, lazily handing the professor a late slip. Mr Roscoe's eyebrows shot up as soon as his eyes traced the paper.

"Ah, Kieren Walker. Take a seat."

The new boy ( _Kieren_ , Simon tasted the name in his mind) immediately slumped into the seat directly in front of Simon's, pushing back in his chair to the point that Simon could practically smell the boy's shampoo.

Woody. Something like apple.

Still, Simon pressed his eyes downwards for once, trying to ignore the fluttering in his gut. Drowning himself in the grey, in the drawl of the lesson, Simon bore his eyes into the desk. Wrote notes he did not read, listened to words he did not hear. He had all but blotted out the new boy's existence by the time he was out the classroom until warm fingers curled about his wrist.

"Hey mate, sorry for raining on your parade back there."

Simon stiffened at the contact. He refused the urge to really look at Kieren as he turned, giving him a weak smile and gazing absently over the guy's shoulder.

"No problem." He muttered, desperate to get away as the grip on his wrist loosened.

"Hey, hey, hey," Kieren teased, fingertips brushing against Simon's palm as Kieren let him go, "you couldn't show me the way to maths, could you? This place is a warren."

Anonymity. Disappearing into the crowd. To drift. Simon ached to fade away, escape from this new attention. A frown gathered his brow together, slipping a step back, as one hand closed over the burning sensation Kieren's fingers had left on his wrist.

"Ah, sorry, I have... I have music. I have to go."

Simon turned, ready to almost sprint away, before guilt tugged him back. Taking a breath, Simon faced Kieren.

"The mathematics classrooms are just beyond the clock tower; it's the building with the rose bushes out front."

It was now that Simon took a real look at Kieren Walker. The boy was a few inches shorter than Simon, yet neither gazed or inclined his chin upwards but rather stood at his full height, looking intently through his eyelashes. Unlike the sea of students around them, Kieren was not garbed in the traditional black robe, grey trousers, and white shirt, no, but was swamped in a leather jacket, tight jeans, and loose t-shirt. His hair was shaved at the sides, leaving a mass of strawberry blond hair flicked on top. Pale skin; a few freckles dotting the bridge of his nose and neck; full lips; _pink_ full lips; slender neck, shoulders...

Simon swallowed.

"Thanks." Kieren replied simply, clearly unfazed by the older boy's stares as he flashed Simon a grin.

He watched Kieren disappear, combat boots smacking against the stone floor, mouth dry.

Simon counted his blessings that he'd always had an impassive face. Realising how he was now one of few students still milling around the corridor, he rushed off in the direction of his next class, mind whirling.

_Homo_.

Simon Monroe had never once been late to a lesson in his entire life. Never experienced the heat of thirty pairs of eyes upon his entrance. The attention. Taking a calmer breath and straightening his posture, Simon turned to the teacher and offered an apology before hurrying to his seat.

Two of Simon's worst nightmares in one day; change and unwanted attention. Now he _really_ just wanted the ground to swallow him up. The only reassurance was that at least he could temporarily lose himself in some music for an hour and then hurry back to his dorm room.

Fingers flashing across the guitar strings, Simon's eyes were glued to the pages of score, fading and blurring among the chords, humming the melody absently as he went. He was forever thankful that his mother had sat him down and taught him various instruments throughout his childhood; violin, piano, cello, guitar, he learnt them all. Revelled in them.

_My lips will shout for joy when I sing praise to you-- I, whom you have redeemed._

As the piece drew to a close, Simon felt his fingers grow heavy with their lack of movement. The chords lingered in the air, ringing in his ears, and he found his eyes focusing upon the cross hung upon the wall. Christ's tortured eyes glared down. Blank. Cold.

The clock tower tolled for the end of class, the bells chiming in rhythm as they all stood, clasped palms, and bent their heads for the Lord's prayer.

It was natural to Simon now; words flowing from his lips before he even thought of them, basking in the glow that filled him. The release. Once done, his eyes fluttered open and so began the normal wind-down routine: head buzzing to white noise, books shuffled into the locker, bag and cloak stowed away in his room before his roommate returned and then straight to the library.

Simon devoured books. Philosophy, psychology, literature, poetry. Though his almost zealous commitment to his school and religion kept him likable to all authority, he strove to feed his own intellect with contemplating others. He was smart; he knew that, used it even, and it made him hard to uproot with insults. As the firm holder of twelfth place in his year's league board, Simon was both secure and not exactly in the spotlight. Just how he liked it.

So while the hour after class and before dinner was spent by most students in the common room, Simon spent his as a library volunteer. And with his kind reputation, the teachers basically gave him a free pass to the whole library. Though he still divided his time between studying and reading there, today Simon allowed himself to be engulfed in a book he'd already read several times. He'd tried to pick up a new book but after brown eyes and wolfish grins had plagued his mind with every turn of the page, he'd given up. Now he was trying to drive such thoughts from his mind completely, hand running through his hair constantly, and hoping the dinner bells would ring soon.

What he didn't expect was for a certain new student to make an appearance right there in the library, groaning excuses at a tired looking teacher.

"No, Walker, drawing a picture of God on a skateboard is _not_ a useful way to spend my maths lesson."

"C'mon, sir, you're not even gonna giggle?" Kieren protested, looking anything but unhappy with his situation, "Don't you have a sense of humour?"

At the playful tugging on his robe, the teacher flashed Kieren a withering look and yanked the sleeve from his fingertips.

"We'll see how long your sense of humour lasts after you spend your free period here both tonight and tomorrow, shall we?"

Kieren groaned, spinning on the spot melodramatically, clearly milking the entire thing. Simon watched curiously over the top of his book, torn between hiding there and taking a short exit. Either way, he knew he was going to have to find a way to skip duty tomorrow.

A pang of shame raced through, making him rise his book further. _Really,_ he thought, _why am I running away._

"And you!" The teacher barked, silence falling a moment where he seemed to await an answer that never came.  Simon ducked further, wanting to shrink into his chair.

" _Monroe._ "

Simon jumped a foot, slamming the book down clumsily on the table in his fright.

"Yes, sir?" Simon called from the counter, dread already pooling in the pits of his stomach and a blush tinting his ears.

"I am trusting you to keep an eye on him."

Simon's heart stopped, ears ringing.

_Fuck_.

No way. No fucking way was he going to spend an hour alone with his guy; this punky guy who turned heads wherever he went and didn't give two shits about what people thought. Simon would have rather thrown himself out the nearest window.

But oh how Kieren Walker smiled; smiled so brightly and devilishly that Simon felt his heart stop a second time. Then he shivered, feeling sick.

"We meet again, doe-eyes!" Kieren called, waving slightly, a curious look flashing across his eyes.

Simon stiffened at the nickname, unable to even wave, so he just nodded and hoped it would suffice. Quicker than he would have liked, Kieren was already at his side, nestling himself down in a chair with a sketch pad. Interest piqued somewhat by the appearance of the pad, Simon returned to his book, only to glance back to it every so often.

"My mum's gonna kill me, getting detention on the first day." Despite the obvious outcome, Kieren simply sounded smug.

"Want a biscuit?"

Simon flinched as an arm brushed up against his and looked nervously towards the half empty packet of digestives.

"Go on, they're not poisoned." Kieren encouraged, shoving the packet further forwards.

Simon took one gingerly, on edge from the mischievous look in Kieren's eye, and took a bite.

"Well, I mean they _could_ be poisoned, I _did_ nick them from the staff room." Kieren confessed, laughing heartily as Simon choked.

"You _stole_ them?" Simon spluttered, staring exasperated at Kieren as he ate one nonchalantly. His own, he placed on the table, discarded.

" _Borrowed_ without permission, I prefer." Kieren replied airily, waving his half-eaten biscuit about, causing Simon to brush crumbs off his trousers.

" _Stole_ them." Simon insisted, feeling scandalised.

"Oh don't get your knickers in a twist, doe-eyes," Kieren huffed, swallowing the last bit of his biscuit, "What's gonna happen? God gonna strike you down with a bolt of lightning?"

Simon pursed his lips, feeling a twist to his gut, as he turned away. _No_ , he thought, _not lightning._

"Wow," Kieren breathed, "You really believe all that?"

Usually Simon wouldn't have risen to the jab. He didn't need to validate his beliefs and he knew that some saw his religion as joke. He knew there were some teachings he would never understand himself, that some beliefs split him in two. But it was all he had. The only thing that kept him grounded. If he didn't believe, then what was there to live for?

He turned back to Kieren, gently placing his book down, and staring directly into the other boy's eyes for once.

"Yes, in fact, I do. That's why, funnily enough, I'm here, at a _Catholic_ school. Needless to say, I don't know why _you're_ here."

As soon as the words flew from mouth, Simon knew he'd gone too far. His ears burned, eyes torn down, ashamed. He expected Kieren to punch him or shout or _something_ because _shit he'd said something so awful_ when the guy had only just got here.

Peeking out the corner of his eye, Simon realised that, while there was a peculiar shadow in his eyes, Kieren merely sat there with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm-" Simon started but before he could finish the dinner bell sounded and Kieren was packing away his things.

Simon tried again, suddenly desperate to eliminate the tension between them, but Kieren raised his hand, a nervous look suddenly apparent on the other boy's face.

"Forget it." Realising that Simon was still pursuing him, he continued, "I don't know why I'm here either."

* * *

Humiliated, Simon took special pains to avoid a certain new student at dinner and the entire next day, cheeks heating at the mere thought of Kieren's response. Something about the way Kieren had both laughed off Simon's anger and been hurt by the reminder of his presence at the school, made Simon want to give himself amnesia.

Now seated in English with said individual not-so-mysteriously absent from his seat directly in front of him, Simon mused over slamming his head on his desk. With his bitter outburst, Simon expected the seat next to the library counter to remain equally empty.

What he didn't expect was for Kieren to appear at the end of the lesson, leaning on the lockers outside with a smug smile, offering to walk with him.

Simon stared at him awhile, not knowing if he'd started hallucinating.

"Well? Are you going to the library or not?"

"Yeah, but," Simon began, taking a subtle glance around for teachers, "why bother when you've already missed last lesson?"

Kieren shrugged. "I can't draw in lessons."

Simon pursed his lips, in two minds about whether to apologise again or drop the matter as Kieren had.

After awhile of simply looking at Kieren's soft flicks of hair, Simon replied with an affirmative, not looking at the other boy as they walked along.

Thankfully, Kieren wasn't one for small talk. The two boys walked along almost in silence with only the idle comment about what Kieren liked to draw and how he planned to slip another drawing of God in his maths teacher's drawer at some point. Simon may have shook his head reproachfully, but somehow he knew that Kieren could tell he wanted to laugh. He'd have to note that down for confession but...

"So how come _you're_ here? You're Irish, right?"

Simon stiffened while picking out a book, fingertips grazing one of their split spines.

"I'm boarding."

"Yeah," Kieren drawled, sliding up to take the book from Simon's hovering fingers, the gentle touch leaving Simon reeling. "More details."

"My Dad works full time. Moves around a lot." Simon admitted carefully.

"And your mum?"

Simon swallowed, knuckles whitening as he took another book from the shelf, and turned his back on Kieren to sit down.

"She's away."

Simon tried to keep his face extra blank, immediately opening the book to the first page and trying to erase Kieren's presence. For a moment, he thought Kieren was going to pry more but the other boy seemed to notice how closed the conversation has become.

"I see."

"Ah, Walker."

The voice of the headmaster caused Simon to freeze on a number of reasons, feeling a mixture of guilt, terror, and nakedness in the man's shadow.

"I had hoped you would be more cooperative in your first week here."

Despite his curiosity, Simon never let his eyes stray from the page in front him.

"I had hoped you would have read my track record, sir." Kieren mimicked, blasé about the entire situation.

"Indeed." Came the response, "It made some interesting bedtime reading."

Unexpectedly, Simon sensed Kieren grow rigid beside him. Out the corner of his eye, Simon saw the same nervousness flash over Kieren's face from yesterday.

Taking his silence as submission, the headmaster hummed. "Let this not be a repeat of last year, Walker."

Once the clicking of his shoes on the stone floor began to fade away, Kieren murmurs a curse.

"What a git."

"He is not known for his kindness."

"Yeah," Kieren drawled, sarcasm dripping, "I didn't think I quite got that."

Simon ignored the jab.

"Some people call him the Undead Prophet."

Kieren spat out the pencil dangling in his mouth to roar out laughter. Simon raised an eyebrow at the outburst, feeling his own mouth tug upwards despite not entirely approving of the nickname.

After Kieren somewhat composed himself, wiping the threats of tears from his eyes, he finally responded. " _Why?_ "

Simon shifted uncomfortably on the spot. "'Cause some say he's been at this school so long he must be immortal or something, and well, I guess the prophet bit comes from being a Catholic."

Kieren was still sniggering under his breath and somehow, Simon found himself chuckling along.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Yeah," Simon agreed, "Yeah, I guess it is."

The next hour was not nearly as awkward as the previous day and when Kieren had invited Simon to join him in his room for noodles instead of going to the canteen, Simon had almost said yes.

"Maybe next time." He'd said instead, making sure to smile a little warmer this time.

"Sure." Kieren shrugged, giving a little wave.

As the other boy turned however, he slammed straight into another student. Despite his lean frame, Kieren had succeeded in causing the other guy to lose his balance, which in turn caused Kieren to immediately stick out his hand to steady the guy. But in the blur of flailing arms, Simon did not neglect to notice the student shoving away Kieren's hand and allowed himself to fall painfully to the floor.

"Don't touch me!" The guy yelled, face wrinkled in disgust.

"Look, man, I was just trying to-"

"I know what you fucking are, okay? Don't touch me."

Kieren paused at that, hand already retreating, a nonplussed look desperately trying to conceal the hurt in his eyes. Without even a look to Simon, Kieren stormed away, muttering something about ingratitude under his breath.

Unknowing whether to follow Kieren, Simon took a step away from the guy who'd fallen, who was equally muttering under his breath. While completely apathetic to the guy who'd so blatantly rejected Kieren's help for no reason, Simon was still able to catch one word as he walked away.

"Homo."


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you all for your lovely feedback and kudos! You are all amazing ;u;
> 
> On with the chapter!

_you are clear_

_o rose, cut in rock,_

_hard as the descent of hail._

 

The first month of the semester was always the worst in Simon's eyes. Too many boys thinking they were still on summer holidays and pissing about. The amount of headaches Simon found himself with by the end of the day were always astronomical throughout September.

Once October rolled in, trees barer and mornings bleak, the campus grew quiet. Students fell into the routine. Simon didn't have to walk as quickly away from classrooms and could linger in the mornings.

He had continued to see Kieren. The guy had a knack of popping up again when Simon thought he'd shaken him. Not that he'd tried too hard this time.

The reason for Kieren's transfer still remained a mystery to Simon, nor did he ever mention it. Instead, he was content to know that Kieren was actually a morning person, or rather didn't sleep, liked milky coffee, and thought the world of his little sister. Content to watch Kieren's face even out when he drew, Kieren's fingers brush over charcoal smudges. Content to feel Kieren's heat on his shoulder. Content to share the same can of coke.

Well, content was putting it mildly, but Simon was desperate to avoid thinking about that.

"You studying English later?"

Kieren's voice and hands wrapping over his biceps jolted Simon out of his daydreaming. The older boy hummed an affirmative before trusting himself to speak against the tugging in his stomach.

"Library is closed for repairs though."

"Repairs?"

"Yeah," Simon answered, brushing his gown subtly as Kieren fell into step beside him, "The roof tiles were letting in a leak."

"Too bad."

The boys were silent a moment, fine to let the conversation draw to a close.

"My roommate is away today. Family dinner."

Simon's lips were numb as he made the offer, internally at war with himself as he questioned what the fuck he was doing. Kieren didn't seem to notice.

_Or doesn't care._

Simon shook away the thought.

"Sounds good." Kieren replied, offering Simon one of his small, genuine smiles. Simon tried not to notice how his heart leapt expectantly. "I'll bring my famous noodles."

"You do that." Simon replied, half laughing.

Kieren hummed before murmuring a goodbye, ducking into the gym hall, as Simon continued to another lesson. He had found out Kieren was technically in the year below him when he'd first helped him study for French, recognising his last year's text book emerging from the other boy's bag in an instant. When he had asked Kieren why he was then in his English class, despite just turning seventeen, Kieren had brushed the question away and simply replied he was "good enough to do it". Simon did not doubt it.

Nevertheless, the two boys tended to gravitate towards each other at the end of their separate lessons anyway.

Arriving at his Latin class to find it empty and a hastily scrawled note upon the blackboard helpfully telling them to "study", Simon meandered back through the courtyards and turned his mind back to Kieren.

Kieren who was free-spirited. Kieren who was easily embarrassed. Kieren who laughed out loud and smirked. Kieren who curled his knees to his chest. Kieren who tried not to take up too much space. Kieren who wanted as much attention as possible. This boy who was filled of contradictions and yet full and warm. Kieren Walker who was quickly throwing Simon Monroe's life into disarray.

"If you dare make a comment like that in my class again, you will regret it for the rest of your sick existence."

Kendal's vicious accent startled Simon out of his thoughts, the voice carrying quite easily on the autumn wind. Moving his head slightly to his left, Simon found himself looking upon the trembling hand of said teacher, knuckles white over the pale skin, and a bunch of white cotton tucked round it.

Everyone suspected Kendal could beat his students. The guy was a bog-standard PE teacher, probably ex-army to top it all off. His lips were thin, eyes black, and voice like a barking dog. He wasn't particularly old, but incredibly bitter and crude. One of the lads.

Simon did not like him.

"Beating a student is illegal." The last word was sung, much to the annoyance of Kendal, whose grip only tightened. At the introduction of Kieren's voice however, Simon stood abruptly and turned to face the teacher, without even thinking.

"Don't you have a class to get back to, sir." Simon announced, watching coolly as Kendal's fist immediately released Kieren's shirt. Kendal jabbed his pointed finger at the both of them before stalking back into the hall. Both boys were silent a moment, Kieren not even bothering to adjust his now even messier uniform.

"I don't need you to stick up for me."

For a moment, Simon didn't know how exactly to respond, wanting to say _but I wanted to_. Instead, he shrugged and said, "I know."

Kieren turned to look at him then, brown eyes watchful. Simon wondered, for a moment, whether Kieren was going to ask him why. For a moment, Simon almost blurted out the answer. But then the moment passed and Kieren was shrugging his shirt back into its proper position, the nonchalant mask back over his face.

"What did you even say to him to get him that riled up?" Simon inquired out of genuine curiosity.

Kieren's smile was a shrewd one, wrinkling the edges of his eyes, but the younger boy didn't turn to look at Simon.

"He wanted me run five laps of the campus so I told him that if he wanted to see me all hot and bothered, he could just suck my dick and have done with it."

Simon immediately regretted asking, already feeling his ears tinge red. Still, Kieren did not seem to notice.

"Shit, no wonder he was going to punch you." Simon replied after a few moments, letting out a quiet but shaky breath.

Kieren's head instantly whipped round, looking at Simon curiously with a faint smile on his lips. Simon felt his blush deepen at the intensity of it, and shrunk away. "You swore. I didn't know you swore."

At the simplicity of the comment, Simon laughed in relief. "Yeah, I swear. Not too often."

"No." Kieren mused, turning to look over the courtyard again as he leaned on the stone archway. Suddenly, his face lost its previous amusement.

"Do you want to punch me too?"

His voice was eerily deadpan as he asked Simon, arms crossed defensively, and the older boy frowned in response.

"And why would I want to do that? Violence is a sin."

"Loving men is also a sin apparently."

Simon swallowed with difficulty. "Yes, apparently."

"You don't think so." The hopeful tone to Kieren's voice squeezed Simon's heart uncomfortably, so he said nothing in reply.

"Simon-" Kieren began before the shrill cry of the bell cut him off. Inwardly cursing his cowardice, Simon hurriedly muttered a goodbye and took off in the opposite direction. Shutting his eyes against the bitterness of the wind, Simon tried to tell himself that the chill that ran through his gut was from the dawn of winter.

 

* * *

 

A part of Simon was not surprised to find Kieren absent from their study plans. From his wonderful display of friendship earlier, Simon was already readying himself to accept that whatever tied them together was soon to be cut.

Nonetheless, Simon found himself desperately wanting the opposite.

After concluding that he would have find some leftovers in the canteen instead, Simon left his room with a strained sigh. _With all the ups and downs in our friendship, I won't be surprised if I gain a few grey hairs_ , he wondered to himself upon catching a distorted reflection of himself in the dark classroom windows.

A harsh clatter caused him to jump a foot.

Stopping in his tracks, Simon strained his ears against the unnerving silence that followed. Above the very distant clamour of the canteen, there was no other movement. The hallway gaped, the electric lights buzzing. Just as Simon's heart returned to its normal pace, there was another heavy thump and muffled crash. This time from the gym.

Simon had never quite thought he would be a witness to assault.

Back in Ireland, he had lived with his mother and father in a borough, not quite country, not quite city. There were long, dark stretches of road and tangled allotments, alleyways and woodland paths. In the distance, if you squinted your eyes enough, you could just about see the sea. That grey haze on the horizon. Late night drunks and singing were common, the occasional fist connecting with jaw was a familiar sound, but Simon had never stumbled across an intended beating, where fists were driven down into a crouched figure on the floor over and over, hands splayed out for mercy.

He never quite thought he would be an aggressor.

But sure enough, as soon as his own fist connected with Kendal's temple, Simon felt his mind drift out his body, watching as his hands circled around Kendal's throat and arm, locking him in place. Simon watched as Kendal choked out heavy breaths. Simon watched as his eyes bulged, his own arm cutting deeper and deeper.

And then he looked at Kieren, lying bloodied on the floor.

"Si."

Simon didn't quite register the shortened version of his name, sickly content with observing how Kendal squirmed a little less. It was only when Kieren rose to his feet, already reaching out tentatively for Simon's grazed knuckles, that Simon suddenly came to his senses and released the teacher, who fell to the ground with gasps for air.

"Simon, what the fuck were you thinking." Kieren hissed, torn between anger and worry. "I don't care about what happens to me, but you have something to lose."

"You're hurt." Simon mumbled, numbly brushing his fingers against the bruises already blooming over Kieren's cheeks and eye.

"Yeah, I am, and it hurts like a bitch, but _fuck_ Simon." Kieren breathed heavily, letting go of Simon's hand to clutch his own hair.

"It's okay." Simon said lamely, the consequences of his actions suddenly dawning in his mind. He turned to gaze at Kendal who was slowly rising from the floor, still coughing.

"You fucking shit." Kendal wheezed, eyes blazing as he rounded weakly on the two boys. "You're dead. You'll be out of this school by morning."

"Fuck you, Kendal." Simon slurred, adrenaline still racing from his hasty actions, as he took a step towards him. "I'd like to see you try when you were beating a student into the ground and the headmaster's already caught you doing this before."

Simon merely earned a growl in return before the older man turned on his heels and made his exit.

"You crazy son of a bitch." Simon heard Kieren sigh behind him. The older boy turned, finally feeling sober. Kieren was trembling; tears streaked his face, shining white over the purpling blush of bruising. Simon watched as Kieren tried desperately to dash them away with the back of his hand but he was soon making choked noises, their shrill echoes fading into the gym.

"I didn't want you to do that." Kieren explained, his eyes clenched shut.

"I did." Simon admitted, his stomach dropping into the floor, and closed the space between them, gently resting his hands on Kieren's shoulders.

"I did." He repeated, brushing his thumb over Kieren's shoulder absently before he let go. "Let's get you a cup of tea."

Simon led Kieren back to his dorm room, their shoulders brushing in the darkness, Kieren's sniffles slowly ebbing away into soft sighs. Once inside the little bedsit that Simon shared, Kieren slumped onto Simon's bed and gazed blankly in front of him. Using the little camp stove that gathered dust beneath his bed, Simon brewed them both a mug of tea, feeling equally drained as he dropped onto the bed beside the younger boy.

"You once asked me why I was here." Kieren blurted out, his fingers ridged around his mug.

"I didn't mean that."

"No, but you deserve to know why I am." Kieren paused to stare downwards, "I think you already know."

Simon's heart stopped as he watched Kieren's mangled face crumple.

"They think I'm sick. They think I made him sick."

Those words, the words that were always plaguing Simon, coming from Kieren's mouth seemed to make the entire situation more real, more terrifying, more tangible. With numb lips, Simon tried to make a reply.

"Your parents?"

Kieren choked out a laugh, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. "No, actually. They had already accepted it."

"Then...?"

Kieren did not pick up the question, dropping his hand again and sighing shakily. Simon found himself hating the red rim of his eyes.

"There was a guy. Rick." Kieren sobbed the name, "We... We'd been friends since we were little. It just... happened, you know?"

Simon found that he had lost the ability to form words; his mind merely churning the word _fuck_ repeatedly.

"We kept everything secret, but I knew. I knew he loved me, just like..." _Just like you loved him_ , Simon finished in his head when Kieren's sentence dissolved.

"But they found out. His parents, I mean." Kieren drew a hard breath and finally looked towards Simon with pleading brown eyes, voice wavering. "I didn't mean for any of it to happen."

Simon stared back fearfully in reply, his throat tight. "What happened?"

Kieren's face scrunched as he began to cry again. Simon took the mug from Kieren's shaking fingers and curled his arms around him, allowing the boy to sob into his shoulder and clutch at his back. Simon found himself muttering soothing reassurances, unknowing of whether they were to himself or Kieren's tormented, unfinished story. When the sobs calmed, Kieren seemed to find the shreds of strength to continue.

And he told him. Kieren told him how, almost a year ago, Rick Macy had defended Kieren when they had been caught and how Rick's father had grabbed a knife in return. He told him how Bill Macy had thought his son was saved as he lay bleeding in his arms. He told him how Kieren paid for Rick's death with beatings from classmates, shunning teachers, and a violent meeting with a penknife.

"After that, my parents moved me here. Said it was far enough away that people wouldn't know."

Simon tightened his grip around the other boy's shoulders.

"You're not sick. You're not." Simon told him firmly, clenching his hands in Kieren's shirt.

"The thing is: I don't care. I don't care what people think of me. They can spit at me, beat me. There's nothing for me here."

"There's lots of things." Kieren simply smiled weakly, shaking his head. Simon's mouth went dry and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "There's me."

Brown eyes filled Simon's vision as Kieren tilted his head towards him. His breath brushed softly against Simon's chin and the spot on his side where Kieren's hand rested tingled.

"There's you." Came Kieren's reply.

 

* * *

 

Since Simon's roommate would not be returning until morning, he let Kieren drift to sleep in his own bed after they dressed their cuts and bruises. When Kieren's fingers trailed over Simon's slit knuckles with disinfectant, the two boys could not help but feel drawn thin and exposed. Kieren had not spoken about Rick for a long time, and yet Simon's cool eyes had a way of uprooting any cover he tried to veil his past with. Simon equally boiled with his inner turmoils.

Once Kieren's breathing slowed, Simon found himself watching the crease between Kieren's brow ironing out and letting his fingers brush away the sleeping boy's fringe. Against the rough calluses on his fingertips, Simon could feel how soft Kieren's skin was and it took almost all his strength to drag himself away, but not before he leaned forward to press his lips to his forehead.

Simon told himself that it had gone far enough. He looked at his watch. He told himself that there would still be a priest in the chapel for another half an hour.

Before he even realised, his feet were already taking him through the campus, into the chapel, into the tidy box to the side. He crossed himself.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been five days since my last confession."

When Simon paused, tongue sticking to the top his mouth, the priest hummed in encouragement.

"Father, it's getting worse."

For a moment, there was merely silence from the other side of the screen while the priest seemed to process Simon's words.

"Young man," he began, "Why do you feel this way?"

"I... I made a friend. And well," Simon ran his hands through his hair desperately, trying to reign in his raging emotions, "I can't see him as a friend and I think he's like me. Sir, he's... he's incredible."

"Enemies often come to us in the form of friends. Is your friend repentant?"

Simon wanted to laugh at the possibility.

"No, he doesn't share our faith."

"Then you should distance yourself from this 'friend' of yours. Remember: _you shall not lie with a man as with a woman; that is an abomination._ Always remember that our bodies may be mortal but our souls are not. Every moment of our lives must be dedicated to our Lord's wishes. If not, our souls cannot be saved."

_Liar. Why must you say those lies._

Simon did not even listen as the priest murmured the prayer of absolution, crossing himself even less vigilantly than before.

"Give thanks to the Lord for He is good."

Simon considered not saying the words, their venom freezing his very teeth. His eyes smarted as the image of Kieren's smile appeared vivid in his mind; burning, solid, true. His lips were cracked.

"For His mercy endures forever." Simon barely whispered.

"I must close up the chapel now. The key is where it usually is, my boy."

"Yes, father." Simon murmured back, the words bitter on his tongue, as he leant his head against the shutter between them.

Simon sat in silence as the lights were slowly switched off, one by one, and the wind whistled softly in the lofts. How unspeakably grey the world had suddenly become. The rough gauze of the confession box window scratched against his cheek as he pulled his head into his hands. Unmerciful ringing haunted his ears, the veins that tangled beneath his skin scorched. With eyes burning, he turned inwards into himself, wanting desperately to be swallowed by the shadows.

And there, alone in the place where his life had been built and structured, he cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Simon sweetie...
> 
> Next chapter up tomorrow!


	3. 3

_the light beats upon me._

_i am startled -_

_a split leaf crackles on the paved floor -_

_i am anguished - defeated._

 

 

He had tried. He really had.

Simon felt destroyed after the confession, sitting in that confession box almost the entire night until a cleaner found him and shooed him out. Even then he wandered round the corridors, mute, unwilling to go back to his occupied room. Unwilling to face Kieren and his feelings. He trailed back to the courtyard, shuddering in the cold breeze, to sort out his head. With hands bitten and frozen from the early winter wind, Simon's tears had stopped in their trails upon his cheeks and he finally understood the cross roads he had been at his entire life.

He knew he had to choose, and he had no idea which way to go from there.

So he did what he had always done; retreated into denial. Pulled away from Kieren and laid down the lines, silently pleading the other boy to keep his distance too. They hung out still, but Simon always made sure it was in public. It was never in his room, never in Kieren's. There were moments, when October drifted into November, that Kieren would still try. There would always be messages left unanswered, invites left coldly declined, and soon Kieren had stopped trying.

It had broken him.

When the Christmas holidays approached, Simon found himself withdrawing into his room more and more, steeling himself for another holiday alone to walk along the dusty corridors and snow. Kieren had dropped from his life altogether at that point, apart from the occasional greeting in their last few English classes - and Kieren never missed one.

So when Simon entered the library a week before Christmas to find a familiar strawberry blond flitting through the shelves, Simon almost had a heart attack.

"Kieren." Simon had not even realised he'd called out until his eyes met brown.

"Hey, Simon." Kieren's voice was surprisingly tense, soft from a quake of nervousness that flashed through his eyes every time he glanced back at Simon.

"Not heading home for Christmas?"

 _What the fuck are you doing_ , he argued with himself. From the look of disbelief that almost arose on Kieren's face, before it was dashed away with a shake of the head, Simon wondered if Kieren had thought the same thing.

"I can't go back there."

"Okay."

And _that_ was the last straw.

"You have _got_ to be joking." Kieren hissed through clenched teeth, turning on his heel and storming away with a couple of books in hand. For a second, Simon expected him to simply leave him like that but alas, Kieren Walker always had a way of uprooting any kind of anticipation of his actions.

Instead Kieren slammed the books on the table, grabbed Simon's jumper round the collar, and stared him down, despite being a couple of inches shorter than the older boy.

"Kieren-"

"Save it, doe-eyes, I don't care. You are going to shut up for a second and listen to me."

And Simon's mouth snapped shut, eyes widening.

"If this whole term has been one joke to you, getting me to like you, getting me to _trust_ you, only to then essentially tell me to piss off and leave you alone, then I'm about to give you a fucking piece of my mind."

Simon almost protested but the real hurt in Kieren's eyes prevented any kind of articulate words from escaping his lips.

"You can't act like my friend and pretend to accept me, and then ignore me. You can't do that and expect me to fucking lie down and take it, Simon. You just can't."

Kieren's anger began to ebb away as he had spoken more, before his fingers had finally released Simon from their grip.

"If you want to be friends, don't treat me like shit. If you don't want to be friends, then fucking say so."

"It's not that sim-"

"I swear to God, Simon, if you tell me 'it's not that simple' I will punch you."

Simon felt his face crumple, eyes squeezing shut, as he tried not to remember the words of the priest that night and the way he had had to shut out his feelings. When Kieren spoke again, his voice had returned to its previous softness.

"It is that simple."

Simon stood immobilized, wanting to disappear between the cracks in the cobbles beneath his feet.

"Simon. I want to be your friend."

He opened his eyes to that, glancing up into Kieren's face, feeling completely lost. The younger boy was looking away, his mouth twisted into a desperate frown as he nervously tapped his fingertips on the table beside him. Simon tried not to dwell on the pink flush that stained Kieren's high cheeks.

"Do you want to be mine?"

Simon had never said yes so fast. And now, days later, he was here, in Kieren's room, in the darkness, waiting for the younger boy to return. Fiddling with a loose stitch on his jumper, Simon mused over the displaced feeling he always received on his birthday. One card from his friend Amy, another from some distant relative with a couple of notes stuffed in the envelope. He had turned eighteen and Simon was faintly disappointed that there was no change to his life. No sudden maturity or attention from his superiors. Nothing. He hadn't been expecting parties and singing cards, especially not from his dad, but still. All such thoughts, however, were soon dispelled once Kieren re-entered.

Simon wasn't sure if this was the best or most embarrassing moment of his entire life.

"Kieren Walker, what the fuck are you _doing._ "

Over the bright orange glow of the candles, Kieren gave Simon his death glare to shut him up. Shying away back onto the bed, Simon watched as the young boy brokenly sang happy birthday, cake in hand. Once in front of him, Simon leaned forward and softly blew out the eighteen candles. The window rattled, a cold draught sending his hair on end.

"Happy birthday." Kieren said tentatively, holding out a small parcel once the cake had been placed on the end table.

Looking up at the younger boy in the darkness, Simon held his breath; the angles of his face, pale against the whiter snow. Lips pink.

"For me?"

Kieren nodded as Simon unwrapped the present, licking his lips nervously. The brown paper fell away easily once the string had been undone, his fingers hesitating on the label and resisting the temptation to trace Kieren's scrawled name. In his hands lay a book, a notepad.

"I have one myself; a scrapbook. I thought, with it being your last year and all, you might want to put some memories in it before... before you go away to university."

Simon's eyes dragged over every surface of the moleskin book, its black-bound cover and smooth pages. The round edges. The silk red ribbon.

"It's beautiful, thank you."

Simon did not miss the smile of triumph that spread over Kieren's face. It took all his power not to trace his fingertips over it. Or something else.

"What should I put in it first?"

Kieren hummed, hovering over Simon's shoulder, the wide grin diminishing to a soft smile. "That's already been taken care of."

Raising an eyebrow, Simon lifted the cover to look at the first page. Then all the air from his lungs seemed to disappear.

It was him. Kieren had drawn a portrait of Simon on the page, the black ink scored into a separate piece of paper that had then been rather messily glued on. Brushing his hand over the lines, Simon fumbled in stringing words together; luckily Kieren began for him.

"I tried so many times, I'm still not happy with it but..." Kieren laughed nervously, "I guess I thought that maybe..."

"I love it." Simon glanced up into Kieren's face, locking eyes. "Really, it's amazing."

Even in the moonlight, Simon could tell that Kieren blushed and it sent a thrill through his body. To hide his embarrassment, Kieren chuckled gently and knocked his fist against Simon's shoulder. Though a strange gesture for Kieren, Simon found himself increasingly finding the younger boy, well... _cute_.

And he did not care to shake the thoughts away.

"That's only half your present anyway."

"There's more?" Simon replied, half laughing as he placed the book delicately on the bedside table.

"Of course there is!" Kieren tsked, smiling wryly, and plonked himself down beside Simon on the bed, tucking his arms behind his head. "But it has to be tomorrow night now, when it's not snowing."

Simon watched Kieren curiously; so they would be outside at night in the freezing cold. Whatever he'd got planned, Simon hoped it was worth it. Although, deep down, Simon knew that anything Kieren Walker wanted him to do was worth it.

Glancing downwards to the drawing once more, Simon tucked his chin into his turtleneck and attempted to hide the smile that quickly spread across his face. He wondered whether Kieren had realised he'd left a date on the sketch; a small note of numbers tucked into the curve between neck and shoulder. _5/10_. Only a week or so after they had met, and it sent a pool of satisfaction into his stomach.

"Oi, doe-eyes, help me with this maths formula."

"Only if you buy me a coke." Simon bargained half-heartedly, placing the book down next to his pillow 

"Deal."

 

* * *

 

"I'll be at your door tonight at ten, okay?"

Simon's heart jumped a little at Kieren's smile as the younger boy brushed up against his locker.

"For the other half of my present?" Simon replied in a low voice, flicking his eyes towards a pair of students moving away pointedly.

Kieren merely smirked in response. "Just be ready - oh, and wrap up warm."

Simon felt himself smirk back. "In one of my famous jumpers? What did you call them again? I remember the words 'scruffy' and 'hipster' flying at some point."

"I called them 'ugly hipster jumpers which even my gran wouldn't wear' to be _precise_."

"Oh right, I'm glad we cleared that up." Simon jabbed back, earning himself a laugh.

"Just be ready okay?" Kieren murmured, a warm smile still playing on his lips.

Then suddenly his hand was gripping Simon's forearm gently, the heat of his fingertips burning through Simon's robe sleeve. Feeling a soft blush rising to his cheeks, Simon flickered his eyes to Kieren's only to find the younger boy already dropping away, expression open. Some day he'd have to teach his heart not to thunder against his ribs as it did when Kieren touched him that way; but today he was content to buzz in the rush he received from it.

 

* * *

 

"We're going to be killed for this. The headmaster will behead me himself. Fuck."

Simon was aware his words were already beginning to slur. His eyes, entranced by the lit match in Kieren's fingertips and the way the flame danced in the winter breeze, watched the casting orange light across the other boy's face and shadows in his eyes.

"Chill. If he catches us, you can just say you chased me here and was about to save the school from being blown up."

"Fuck, Kieren." Simon laughed, biting back his wide smile.

"Honestly, don't worry." Kieren assured, dropping the flame onto the fuse.

Then they were sprinting, the wind roaring in Simon's ears and laughter on his tongue, as it went screeching into the sky. The hill dipped below his feet, a discarded empty bottle of cider left at the bottom. Simon twisted back, skimming the grass on the balls of his feet, to watch as shards of light shrieked across the sky. In the glowing burst, Kieren's outline could be seen running closer before he was against Simon's chest, hands shaking his shoulder in excitement as the fireworks were thrown into the sky.

They laughed, hardly knowing at what; their childish happiness, shivering in the frosted fields out back, illuminated in the sparks. Ears ringing, Simon's eyes flashed white, green and red. Nostalgia flooded him; thrown back into the nights spent at carnivals with his mother's hand in his, his father's smile as he stole some of his candy floss, and carousels with golden ponies. Only now he was no longer a boy, with scrapped knees and bright eyes.

But at least he wasn't alone anymore.

As the last firework expired into the smog, Simon stood transfixed, hands limp at his sides and lungs full of smoke. It was as if his soul was no longer tied to his body, but floating into the sky among the plumes of grey and shining stars. He imagined his mother's hair curling about her face as she pressed her lips to his forehead each night. Her freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her hazel eyes. Her perfume.

What was it again?

"You okay?"

Kieren's fingers brushing along his knuckles brought him back with a tug, and Simon released his fists.

"Wonderful. This was great." Simon replied, turning to genuinely smile at Kieren who was watching him curiously.

Gazing at the younger boy's earnest expression, Simon's eyes dragged from brown eyes to lips before he swallowed, looking away.

"Thank you, Kieren."

He did not mean for his voice to be so small but somehow the words couldn't quite leave his lips. He felt naked, far too open, and yet a part of him was daring Kieren. Daring him to do something and see how he would deal with it.

And for a split second, there it was: Kieren's fingers slipping into his own, until they were gone and Kendal was screaming across the other side of the school.

"Shit." Simon hissed as the two heard Kendal's yelling coming closer over the fields with each passing second.

"Simon," Kieren whispered, tugging on the older boy's wrist, "This way, I know a place."

Kieren's breath in his ear and heat curled about Simon's wrist, sent a chill down his spine but he allowed that younger boy to drag him away, not even registering that Kieren's fingers were now slipping down and entwining with his own.

Hand in hand, they ducked into the woods, skirting back into another field, and away from Kendal's howling and threats. Simon found himself sniggering with Kieren, heart racing and vision still dotted from the light of fireworks.

Before he knew it, Simon was hurried into what looked like an old sheep shed, the stone crumbling from the walls and barely any roof. Kieren tugged Simon into a corner, both of them crouching beneath a hole wide enough for them to survey from.

"He's such a Filch." Kieren murmured, earning another muffled chuckled from Simon, as echoes of Kendal's shouts still reached them. In the next moment, Simon froze. The warmth of Kieren's thumb was rubbing absently over the back of his hand and, over the musk of straw and undergrowth, Kieren's scent of soap, smoke, and something that was _definitely_ his sweat, caused Simon's stomach to flip.

He could faintly see how the moonlight streaked Kieren's face and hair from outside, giving him an ethereal, blue glow. Simon swore that in that moment, Kieren was no longer some awkward, foul-mouthed punk.

No, he was a fucking _angel_.

In that moment, Kieren's words were muted in Simon's roaring ears. In that moment, Simon forgot that loving Kieren was a sin. In that moment, Simon ducked his head and placed his lips upon Kieren's.

The touch made Simon feel more human than he had felt in months. In _years_. He pressed forwards, hungry, for more of the feeling that was scorching his veins. Grasping the back of Kieren's neck, he felt Kieren's mouth gasp open and he wasted no time breathing him in, closer, closer.

Simon was drunk on Kieren's taste, his smell, his chilled skin, and breathy gasps. His fingers brushed Kieren's rough stubble at the back of his neck, relishing the prickle of it against sensitive fingertips. It was only when Simon felt Kieren stiffen, breathing heavily, at that touch that Simon's consciousness ripped through.

Then reality came flooding in.

Simon ripped his hands away, horrified at how the bruised glisten to Kieren's lips made a wave of arousal wash through him. He shot upright, despite his whispered name ushering through Kieren's lips and reaching hand.

_Trembling hand._

Simon tore himself away towards the door, clenching his hands. "Wow, I'm drunker that I thought. I-" He rambled, clenching his eyes shut too and trying desperately to laugh it off, "I should go."

And he didn't look back.

 

* * *

 

They say that you should learn from your past mistakes. Only Simon wasn't entirely sure who 'they' were and whether they were even worth listening to, because right now running away from Kieren and his feelings felt like the _perfect_ thing to do.

Okay, that was a lie, but Simon still couldn't think straight enough to turn back and apologise, and hell, even talk it through.

So he ran back to his empty room, slammed the door, slammed his face into his pillow, and screamed. Screamed until his voice was wrecked and his eyes watered.

Only this time, God hadn't given him the luxury of being able to slip away and grow distance between them again. This time a fury-driven demon by the name of Kieren Walker followed him straight away and threw the door aside.

Eyes ablaze and fists trembling, Kieren Walker was the stuff of Simon's nightmares.

In a low voice, the younger boy padded over to Simon who stood, pillow in hand, at a loss for words. "I swear to God, Simon, you are not running away this time."

Only he did. Sprinting into the bathroom, Simon stumbled through the door but not before he'd thrown the pillow directly into Kieren's face. Flicking the lock hastily, Simon backed into the bathroom as Kieren pounded his fists into his door, snarling.

" _Simon Monroe, if you don't open this fucking door this right-fucking-minute, I will kick it down._ "

Only Simon just stared at it, dumbfounded, so Kieren started again, the heavy thumps of his fists drumming into Simon's skull like a drill to the temple. He folded in on himself, drawing his body into the corner. After what seemed like an hour, Kieren stopped punching the door and Simon listened to him slide down the door. He noticed the shadows of his knees darkening the gap beneath the door frame with a pang of guilt.

"You are such a bastard. You are _such_ a bastard."

Simon remained silent, eyes clenched shut, and tried not to focus on Kieren's heavy breathing slowing outside the room. He tried not to feel reassurance at the fact that Kieren _had_ followed him, and that he was still there, right outside.

_Go away, go away, go away._

"I'm not fucking leaving you, tosspot."

"I didn't mean you." Simon replied, feeling ashamed that his thoughts had flown from his mouth anyway.

Kieren only sighed, shuffling around outside.

"Fine. I get it. You don't want to talk. But that's not okay with me, so I'm going to talk and you're gonna listen."

There was a moment of silence as Kieren seemed to gather his thoughts. Meanwhile, Simon stared at his hands and tried not to think of how Kieren tasted.

"You're gay. Or bi. Or whatever, it doesn't matter." Kieren hissed between his teeth in frustration and Simon could almost imagine the younger boy pinching the bridge of his nose. "At least it doesn't matter _to me_. I know, okay? It's terrifying, but the longer you deny it, the harder it's-"

"Did you say this to Rick?"

It shut him up. Simon knew he crossed the line but he went and said it anyway. Anything, _anything_ , to make Kieren stop saying those words; from making the reality clearer.

"Don't try to make me hate you, Simon. That kind of defence mechanism won't work on me anymore."

He dragged a hand through his hair desperately, tears clinging to his closed eyes.

"I know you don't really want to push me away, and you know I don't want you to."

"You don't understand. I'm -" The words caught in Simon's throat as he realised the words he was about to say, the exact words Kieren had said to him right after the beating. _I'm sick, I'm wrong, I'm damned if I give in to loving you_ \- and suddenly he could not say them. The mantra that had been running through his mind for years came to staggering halt as he realised that his need to not cause Kieren any more pain began to outweigh the words of his father.

So he took a leap of faith and started again.

"My mum died when I was ten."

Silence dropped down heavily upon both boys. Simon blinked back his tears.

"And for years I believed it was my fault, because she protected me, because I was the one who should have been hit by that car." Kieren made to interrupt, softly calling his name, but Simon cut through. "And when I was fifteen, my father began to notice... what I was."

Simon paused, shutting his eyes against the tortured face of his father, the disgust that had twisted his features. He sensed that Kieren knew what he had meant and he did not feel the need to elaborate on something he had tried so hard to forget.

Suddenly a frenzied laugh shook his body. "And you know what he said one night, so drunk that he couldn't even punch straight? He said that my mother's soul would be damned to know that she had given her life to save such a devil. After that, my father sent me here permanently because he couldn't bear the sight of me, and I believed he was right."

Kieren shuffled outside again, the door creaking under his weight, and Simon buried his head in his bent knees.

"So you have to understand why I'm terrified."

There were a few more moments of silence as Simon drummed his fingers on the bathroom floor to drown out Kieren's steady breathing on the other side of the door. A part of him was screaming to elaborate more; to say he was terrified of putting aside his beliefs, of having to reconsider what had destructively structured his life, of his father, of giving in, but not of Kieren himself - never Kieren. Only his mind seemed to have short-circuited and he could only focus on slowing down his erratic breathing. When Kieren spoke again, his voice was softer and tentative.

"Can I come in now?"

But Simon was already at the door, creaking the door aside slowly, his stomach dropping lower by the minute. With each inch uncovered, Simon felt all the more terrified. Kieren's hair had been tousled, cheeks bitten red from the chill, but his eyes were black in the darkness of the room.

Instead of rising to meet him, Kieren simply shuffled to side and patted the space next to him, which Simon dropped into before curling his knees to his chest.

"I think I might be gay."

"You think?" Kieren half-chuckled before Simon shot him a look, but then Kieren's fingers were stroking down the side of his cheek and curling round his neck, drawing their foreheads together. Closing his eyes against the touch, Simon arched into his hand, and, when Kieren next spoke, he felt their lips smile weakly against one another.

"Okay, we can work with that. We can work with that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half way through now guys! Next chapter will be up tomorrow (which is also my birthday?)
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone for your kudos and lovely comments <3


	4. 4

_i had grown from listlessness_

_into peace_

_if you had let me rest with the dead_

_I had forgot you_

_and the past._

 

Kissing Kieren was like kissing sunlight; while everything within Simon glowed and tingled with a dizzying happiness, he was also burning from the inside out. The soft brush as Kieren's lashes grazed his own cheeks, the gentle press forward, was maddening. Pressed up against the desk, Simon let out a ragged breath as Kieren moved away, textbook in hand and a smirk on his face. He had quickly learnt that Kieren Walker had a habit of kissing him in the most unexpected ways, and usually revelled in making Simon fluster from it.

"You know, kissing me before making me sit down and study with you is not always the best combination." Simon breathed, sinking down onto Kieren's bed with his own notepad in hand.

Kieren hummed with pursed lips, taking considerable concentration in finding the right page, but flashed his eyes to the older boy.

They'd been officially together for four months now with drifts of snow blooming into cherry blossoms. Not publicly, of course, but stealing kisses in dark alcoves and brushing fingertips in goodbye. Weekends sprawled out on Kieren's bed, books spread out around them and sketching and laughing. Listening to music, limbs all entangled, and mouths seeking when roommates were away.

It was easier than Simon ever thought possible.

Reaching out, Simon dragged his fingers through Kieren's hair and pressed his lips to the young boy's temple. Simple displays of affection that were so natural, so blissful, Simon hardly thought twice about them anymore.

"I won't be able to meet up next weekend: my dad is coming to visit."

Kieren stiffened slightly before glancing upwards. "I understand."

Simon smiled weakly in response, letting his hand drop down from Kieren's neck and clasp their hands together instead. Kieren kissed his knuckles.

Simon had never really explained the present situation between him and his father, but Kieren knew how tenuous the nature of their relationship was. After he had told Kieren all about his mother's death and his father's words, he believed that Kieren was intuitive enough to piece together the absent connections.

"But my friend is also visiting. She's nice, and I want you to meet her."

Kieren glanced upwards, curiosity twinkling in his eyes, and a smile playing on his lips. A sudden wash of bravery rushed through him and Simon was opened to his mouth to continue, only Kieren pressed a finger to his lips.

"Enough talk, doe-eyes. I need to get at least a C in my French so let's get started, yeah?"

Simon didn't notice Kieren's smile dropped slightly.

On the way back to his room, Simon did not notice the group of boys who followed him either.

The beating was quick, struck from behind and a couple of kicks to the stomach, and Simon was left curled on the floor. The pain to his abdomen made him want to be sick and he wheezed there until another student found his crumpled body. Although the shock and fear threatened to explode from within him, he did not cry.

Kieren had though, all too knowing of that pain, and when Simon found his robes ripped across the courtyard a day later, red letters painted upon their shreds, Kieren began to withdraw. Simon had reassured him that there was only a couple of months left, that he would be fine, but he could feel the younger boy's stress every time they exchanged glances in the hallways and greeted one another.

So now they danced about each other, too cautious, too aware, and Simon longed to escape the narrow halls.

 

* * *

 

Sunlight beat down on the courtyard's white cobbles, red pansies swaying in the open breeze of a cool April morning. High above, wisps of cloud rolled lazily across the sky. Green leaves whispered, the branches creaking and twisting against the warmth. Enveloped by the scent of grass and sun, Simon scribbled his notes down and discarded his black robe beside him on the lawn.

Midweek. The realisation that his father, whom he had not seen for at least a year, would be arriving in a few days was beginning to niggle away at his resolve. So instead, he had poured himself into revising; the fact that his exams would be coming round in the next month was still unreal to him. Exams, then graduation, and then...

His pen paused. Lifting his eyes to stare blankly ahead, Simon tried think past that.

Exams, graduation, then university. London; if he got the grades. New places, new beginnings.

Sighing, he put his notepad aside and laid down in the grass. Shutting his eyes against the blazing sunlight, Simon tried to think about his life past this place, past prejudice, and secrecy, and stone walls. Kieren would be staying here, alone, but they could still meet surely? He could stay in London with Simon during the holidays and Simon could visit on weekends. They'd make it work. Simon knew they could work with it. His bruised cheek throbbed.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is."

Simon's eyes immediately snapped open. " _Amy Dyer_."

Amy smiled down at him, her hair tousled above his head in a brown curtain. "Hey, beau."

And suddenly they were hugging fiercely, laughing into each other's clothes, trading muffled insults. She was slighter than he remembered, his arms seemingly grasping air beneath her various petticoats and cardigans, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

"It's been too long, I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, you great sap." She replied playfully, tucking herself onto the grass beside him. "You haven't written in awhile."

"Exam preparation happened," Simon paused, thinking about the last month or so, with Kieren's sketching, the harassment, their long weekends, his books being strewn across campus, his mock exams coming back all flourishing 'A's, "and a lot of other stuff."

"Stuff like fights?" She pried, rubbing her finger over the purpling on his cheek. He flinched at the touch.

"Not so much fights and more like being a human punching bag." Amy gave him a look to which he shrugged weakly. "Nothing I'm not used to, Amy."

She hummed. "Soon you won't have to deal with them anymore."

"I'm counting on it." Simon replied, giving her smile.

" _But_ , when you _did_ write, you told me you'd made a friend, hm?" Amy wiggled her eyebrows expectantly, nudging him with her shoulder, "Anyone I need to meet?"

Simon feigned a grimace but let his excitement shine through when he smiled. "I have, although now I'm having second thoughts about you meeting him."

"Why? Haven't you told him about me? Funny Amy? The fiancée? The beautiful genius?"

"Fiancée?"

Kieren's voice made both of them to whip their heads round. He was standing a little away from them, as if intimidated by Amy's presence there, his hands shoved into the depths of his pockets. His expression shouted suspicion and guilt to the point that Simon almost laughed aloud. It possibly didn't help that Amy seemed to be sizing him up herself.

"Yes, fiancée. Ever since I met him, aged seven, and proposed. It was all very romantic."

"I remember you giving me a lollipop behind a carnival ride and telling me that unless I married you, you'd kick me in the shin."

" _Lies,_ all atrocious _lies._ " Amy gasped with mock disbelief. Simon glanced back at Kieren to find the younger boy's shoulders less hunched and a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"Amy, this is Kieren," Simon paused a moment, searching Kieren's face for approval a moment before he thought better of it, "My... friend I told you about."

"Ahhh," She grinned, letting her eyes fall on Kieren once more, "This is Kieren Walker."

"Hello." Kieren murmured shortly, now trying to air confidence and watching her with a smile pulling at the sides of his mouth.

"Ooh, frosty." Amy replied, laughing, "Don't worry I won't steal him away from you. Anyway," Simon's stomach quivered at the unintended weight of her words and noticed she'd got that look in her eyes, "You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself."

"Maybe I should worry about you stealing _him_ away." Simon joked, watching curiously as Kieren visibly relaxed by the second and his smile grew wider. Kieren pulled a face at Amy in mock discomfort before returning her grin, and relief flooded Simon like the ocean. They liked one another and seeing them exchange barbs in the fresh morning, with the warmth on their skin and smiles, Simon hoped that the future would find such moments for him.

When the bell rang for the end of the free period, Amy reassured the boys that she would be back at the weekend to visit and winked at Kieren on the way out.

"She's nice." Kieren stated, still smiling after her.

"Told you." Simon replied, watching Kieren's face intently. With the barest movement, Simon grazed his fingers over Kieren's, and then Kieren was moving away with a bizarre look on his face.

"Don't."

As he slipped away, leaving Simon in the pale sunlight, there was a bitter taste in his mouth and a stinging to his fingertips.

 

* * *

 

The next few days leading up to Saturday were surprisingly quiet on the torment front. Simon only had to deal with three snide comments on the Friday and nothing of his had gone not-so-mysteriously missing either. The one thing that was disturbing Simon, however, was how much Kieren was avoiding him.

After the beating, they had silently agreed to reduce the amount of time they spent together in public, as much as Simon had begun to hate doing so. He missed the little fugitive touches and brushing alongside him in the corridor, watching the strands of his hair glint under the artificial light and lashes curl on his cheeks. Simon realised he'd begun to take great comfort in the simplicity of those habits, and now that they were gone, with his father's arrival looming, Simon could only curl into the corner of his bed and play back the memories.

He had no idea what to think about that either. The fact that his father had even sent him a letter had been enough to send him reeling, but telling him that he was about to receive an audience with him? Unheard of. His first thoughts, receiving that very curt note two weeks ago, was that his father might have forgiven him, might be trying to reconcile.  But then he'd remembered the date: 15th April. His mother's birthday.

So now he didn't quite know what to expect.

On the morning of the meeting, Simon found himself pacing his room and unable to bring himself to at least have breakfast in the canteen. Half of him wanted to avoid the meeting, run to Kieren's room and stow away for the weekend. But he knew; no more running away. Not this time at least.

Smoothing down his hair again, Simon stared down his reflection. Every detail of his person suddenly seemed wrong: his hair was too messy, eyes too shadowed, clothes too scruffy. No matter what he did, whatever alteration he made, nothing worked and Simon was almost at the point of just putting a bag over his head in hopes it would help. Instead, he cursed under his breath and slammed the door on his way out.

"Simon."

Kieren stood to the side of the corridor, watching worriedly as Simon fidgeted and paced the short width of the hall.

"I came to see how you were."

Simon laughed without humour, stopping for a moment to gaze at the other boy. "I have no idea what's going to happen."

"Just... try to calm down." Kieren ventured, reaching out before withdrawing his hand again, glancing over his shoulder.

"If only." He was pacing again, trying to focus on breathing and generally being a functioning human being, until Kieren's hands were around his neck and they were kissing.

Simon let out a little squeak of surprise as the younger boy's lips pressed firmly onto his before he shut his eyes and lent into the kiss, their fingers entwining. They broke away for a moment, just long enough to look around again before they were flushed up against one another, Simon fumbling for the door back into his bedroom. With his hand on the door handle, Kieren made a muffled question against his lips:

"Roommate?"

"Canteen. Breakfast." Simon hurried back, drawing Kieren inside by his jacket's collar.

Hands were curling round his back, drawing him into an embrace, and Kieren was pushing Simon further and further into the room. Suddenly there was no fabric between Kieren's hands and his bare back, grazing over his scars. Shivering, Simon tried to question him but was only able to make out a confused hum.

 _What am I doing,_ Simon screamed at himself, _your father_... But the thoughts were never finished because Kieren was dropping his jacket on the floor, the long line of freckles on his neck exposed on a new patch of skin. He was vaguely aware that Kieren had whispered something and it was only later, when he felt like he was losing his mind as Kieren hovered over him and whispering again, that he realised he'd said only two words.

 _Don't go_.

"I have to."

From beneath the covers, Kieren's tousled head twitched.

"I have to figure out what he wants, Kieren." Simon explained, nerves still eating away at his stomach. "I'll be back in the afternoon and we can hang out with Amy, okay?"

No answer came, only the form tightening into a ball. Simon reached out to brush away some of Kieren's hair, kissing his temple, and whispered in his ear. That, however, got Kieren to hastily throw his arms around Simon's shoulders, kissing him fiercely once more.

"Me too. Me too." He admitted, voice disturbingly broken and hushed.

"Kieren," Simon whispered the name, trying hard to remember how to breathe as every nerve ending was buzzing. The desire to kiss him again was overwhelming.

"I'm sorry I made you throw everything away: your religion, your dad... I took it all from-" Kieren hastily muttered, pain flashing through his eyes, before Simon cut him off.

"No, Kieren, I haven't thrown anything away, just... reconsidered it, because there's what I believe," He chuckled softly, rubbing his thumb across Kieren's cheek fondly, "And then there's you."

He kissed him again, trying to prolong the calm before the storm.

"I'll be back soon." Simon reassured him, disentangling himself and rubbing a comforting hand down his back. "I promise."

 

* * *

 

"I'm sorry, Mr Monroe, we haven't received a visitor of that name yet."

Simon froze, his gut twisting. "There must be some kind of mistake. My father said he would be arriving at ten o'clock. It's... It's already eleven thirty, surely... He must be..."

The secretary shook her head solemnly, pity clear in her eyes as she watched Simon physically sink into himself.

"And there's been... no call? Nothing?"

She paused a moment, hating to bear such news. "We've received no phone call to say otherwise. Where is he travelling from? Maybe the traffic is bad on the roads?"

Simon glanced at the window, as the rain drops shattering the light from outside and the grey mists curling on the school grounds. "Maybe."

The secretary smiled, clearly perked up from Simon's slight increase in hope. "There you go then. We can always come knock on your door when he arrives?"

Simon gave her a strained smile before nodding and taking a quick exit out of the reception, thunder rumbling in the brick walls. Once out of ear shot, Simon tucked himself into a secluded alcove and curled inwards. Squatting on the cold stone floor, Simon slammed his fists into the walls, teeth gnashed together, and felt the threat of tears already stinging his eyes.

Once again, his father had let him down, had gotten his hopes up and let him fall. _I shouldn't have expected anything different_ , Simon chanted to himself, _I should have known he wouldn't want to see me. Not today. Not ever_.

He wasn't as optimistic as the receptionist; he knew his father enough that for a trip like this, he would have stayed overnight at a nearby hotel, which meant it was impossible for there to be an hour and half delay on his journey here. No, he had never intended to come in the first place.

Various words raced through Simon's mind as he sat shivering in fury and the chill; liar, disgraceful, sinner, coward. Only he wasn't really able to distinguish which insults were meant for his father and the ones directed at himself.

He momentarily considered slinking back to his bed, to Kieren, to warmth, but the idea of running away with his tail between his legs made him feel physically ill. So instead he rose up again and trailed the cloisters, setting his mind to the dreary hum of the rain pattering on the slate above him and the glisten of the drops on the paved walkways.

He had been staring out at a particularly deserted courtyard for quite some time before he realised he was no longer alone.

"Good morning Monroe, nice to see you enjoying the fresh air with exams so close."

Simon almost flinched, feeling the heat rise to his face. "Good morning, headmaster."

"Don't worry, my boy." The headmaster continued, his cool eyes resting absently on Simon's subtle attempts to hide his bloodied knuckles in his pockets. "You're one of my best students, I'm sure you deserve a short break from studying."

Unable to respond, Simon merely nodded.

"How are your wounds?"

Stiffening, Simon ducked his head, all too conscious of the bruises on his face, now yellowing. "Healing."

"It is a shame you were not able to identify them; violence is not tolerated in this institution."

Simon wanted to laugh, remembering Kendal slamming his fists into a student and then his own beating with vicious intent. Suddenly the controlled authority of this school, the one he had upheld for seven years, was a joke to him. A crude, false joke.

"I actually have a request of you." The words were drawn out, heavy, and Simon swallowed in anticipation. "I would like you to give the graduation speech this year."

And his heart stopped.

"Pardon?"

"The end of year speech. I would like you to write it; I know you will do well on it." His thin lips stretched into a vague smile. "I will give you time to think on it. Let me know your decision soon. Anyway, it seems you have a visitor."

His mouth grew dry as he followed the headmaster's eyes to the end of the corridor, steeling himself for a familiar, bulky figure, possibly greying at more than just the temples and wearing his old hunting jacket. But instead, he found an entirely different form.

Amy stood nervously to the side, her hands twitching at her sides, with a peculiar expression in her features. Her hair was drawn back from her pale face, tendrils of it curling about her neck, and her dress seemed to hang off her like it would on a coat hanger. It was only when she drew her hands together in front of her than Simon noticed the small square of paper between her fingers.

"Hey, handsome."

"Amy." Simon whispered, feeling a mixture of relief and exposure in her presence.

"I came here for support but..." She half-smiled, showing him the note pointedly, and walked over to his side. "It seems I was the one who met _him_ instead."

She placed the note on the stone fence that Simon had been leaning on and he could only stare at it blankly.

"My dad?"

"Yeah." She pursed her lips, "I haven't read it and he didn't actually say any more about it other than just to give it to you."

So he'd been there. Simon tried to imagine it; his father outside the school doors, fretting and hastily scrawling a note on the bricks. He wondered whether his father had even decided to see him, or whether it had always been his plan to just pass on a note.

Reaching out, Simon brushed the paper delicately, feeling as if it wasn't even real, but just a ghost of thought from his father's mind. Immaterial. Insincere. 

Then, against his better judgement, he flipped it open.

 

_Simon,_

_I am moving back to Ireland in a month. Not to the house. Sold it a couple of months ago. You wrote saying you would be moving to London in the autumn if you pass. Good luck._

 

Replacing the note on the fence, Simon suddenly felt hollowed out. That was it. All he had wanted to tell him was that he was disappearing from his life for good - cutting all of their former ties, as strenuous as they may have been, and vanishing into the oblivion.

Feeling her eyes upon him, Simon answered Amy's unspoken question. "He's going back to Ireland and he's wished me luck for my future."

"Did he say if he'll be back?"

"If he is, he's made it very clear that he will not be looking for me." Simon replied through gritted teeth. Beneath his hand, he scrunched the note up and pain bit into his knuckles from the fresh cuts.

"Maybe that's what's best." She whispered, dropping her hand over his and loosening his grip on the note.

"Why did he give you the note? Was he outside the school?"

"I was about to leave when I ran into him. He..." Amy hesitated, glancing up into Simon's stoic face. "He was pretty frantic and when he saw me, he just told me to give you the note and say he was sorry."

And all of a sudden, everything was so very funny. Simon's shoulders shook with the hysteric chuckles that ripped through him. Pressing his forefinger and thumb into his eyes, Simon laughed harder and harder at the concept that his father had apologised, because there was so much pain caused that Simon didn't even know what he was apologising for.

"Simon, stop it, you're freaking me out."

"Why, Amy? Isn't it _hilarious_? My father? Apologising? All those years he beat me around and spat in my face after Mum died and what? Now he's apologises? Is he even saying sorry for that shit or just for letting me down one last time?"

Amy stared him down, eyes gleaming from her own unshed tears, and she looked away, ashamed. Instantly, Simon's mind latched onto something she'd said.

"You were leaving. I didn't realise you were even here."

"I went to your room first." Her voice was barely audible now, her round face cast downwards, and she sighed softly.

Simon made the connection very quickly; Amy going straight to his room to find Kieren there, alone, possibly still undressed or in his bed even. Horror flood in.

"You saw Kieren."

She let out a strained chuckle. "I saw Kieren and _you_."

Simon couldn't even speak, his mind overloading from everything, and all of a sudden he had the urge to dash his throbbing head against the stone.

"Simon, I'm not..." She took a breath, "I'm not disgusted. You know I love you, and I'll love you no matter who you are or who you're with. I just... I'm just shocked: I never thought you were like that and... I guess, I thought I should have known. I've known you forever, and yet..." She trailed off, shrugging.

"You're not... disgusted... by me? By what I am?"

"What you are?" Amy echoed, eyebrows furrowing together, "Simon, you're just a person who loves another person. Don't be ashamed of that."

Simon wasn't even aware he was crying until Amy was wiping away the tears from his cheeks. "Dumb-dumb." She murmured with a quirk of her mouth.

"Now," She announced softly as Simon crumbled into her embrace. "I would like to be re-introduced to a Mr Kieren Walker."

But when they returned to Simon's room, they found a disgruntled roommate and empty sheets, cold and crumpled. Simon's heart skipped a beat, trying not to blush at what he and Kieren had done under those sheets merely hours beforehand. Still, his hand grazed the top of the pillow, noticing a glinting red hair left discarded there.

Making an excuse to his roommate that he'd come back for a jumper, he left with Amy again quickly and decided Kieren must have gone back to his room. That or he was searching the grounds for Simon himself. Exhausted all at once, Simon very much wanted to be back in Kieren's arms and have a few moments of white haze. His footsteps grew hasty as the distance from Kieren's room grew shorter and the added encouraging smile from Amy that Simon knew so well calmed his nerves a little more with each step.

Seeing Kieren's door swung wide open, rattling slightly from a draught, was not calming however.

Not one bit.

Simon had frozen at the sight of it, numb down to his very fingertips, scalp crawling. Amy gasped under her breath as both of them stared and she was the one who edged forwards to look inside the room. There was a minute or so where time stopped completely. There was no gentle splashes of the rain on the window panes, no musky smell of the wet walls, no muffled music playing from other rooms around him. The ground beneath his feet seemed to swirl, his feet sinking into the carpet like quicksand, and Simon was drowning.

Amy was shaking him, moving him forwards into the room, and he could see her lips forming his name but there was nothing. It looked like it had been ransacked. Drawer shelves left strewn across the floor; articles of clothing left abandoned; notepads, pens scattering the floor. On the end table, beside the stripped bed, was one last sketch.

Under the droplets, the ink was running and Simon pressed his fingers into the words.

 

_Let the sun beat_

_on our forgetfulness_

_one hour of all_

_the heat intense_

_and summer lightning_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh.
> 
> Final chapter will be up tomorrow!


	5. 5

_my hell is no worse than yours_

_though you pass among the flowers and speak_

_with the spirits above._

 

 

_10th May_

_Simon,_

_I know I have no right, writing to you like this, but I needed to explain myself._

_I hated that place. I had to leave, Si. You were the only thing holding me there. If it wasn't for you, I would have left months ago, but you were leaving and I couldn't bear it. I couldn't watch you leave and then let them think I was gonna come back after summer without you._

_I've applied to art college. With Jem's help I was able to convince Mum and Dad to let me and I'm going there in September. ~~I'm~~  I'm actually really excited about it._

_~~I know I fu~~ I hurt you, I really hurt you and I'm so sorry. But  they were hurting you more. You can tell me that that's a lie and that you could take it but I could tell you couldn't. You struggled so hard with who you were and I was making it worse. And you know why I had to stop it from getting any worse._

_~~I fucked up so I'm sor~~ It's funny, isn't it? That you were always the one running away and then suddenly you knew what you wanted and you took it, and that's when the tables turned._

_I'm so sorry._

_Kieren_

_14th May_

_It's almost been a month since you left and I got your letter today. Exams start next week so it's kind of hectic._

_~~I don't bl~~  You're right. I'm hurt. You basically slept with me and then ran away and I feel like I got a taste of my own medicine and it makes it ten times worse that you're gone and you're not coming back._

_Kieren, you weren't the reason the dicks were beating me up and ~~you know what? Actually accepting who I am makes it feel less shitty when they do because I know they're wrong ones - not me. And just because you're gone doesn't mean~~   Just stop blaming yourself. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault._

_I understand why you ~~wanted~~ needed to leave, and I'm glad you got into art college. You deserve a shot at finding your own happiness._

_Good luck_

_Simon_

_22nd May_

_Si,_

_I hope your exams are going well. I know you'll ace them, you're too smart._

_Kieren_

_5th June_

_Kieren, I'm half way through now. Latin was easy, so was Maths. English was a bitch ~~\- wish you could have been here to help.~~_

_How's the art college prep going?_

_Simon_

_11th June_

_Simon,_

_Glad to hear they're going well - Maths at St Mary just makes me think of all those drawings of God I snuck into Smyth's drawer. Is he as grumpy without me?_

_I'm sure your English was fine - which poems came up?_

_It's fine - I have to submit a portfolio so I've been painting none stop the past month. I've put some photos with this so you can see what I've been working on._

_Kieren_

_28th June_

_Kieren,_

_Sorry it's taken me so long to write - I had the rest of my exams and they took up my whole life._

_Smyth is always grumpy; that's his only emotion. If he cracked a smile I think the world would implode._

_Tennyson came up. A fragment from The Eagle. Thomas Hardy too; Neutral Tones, The Voice. No Frye though._

_Your portfolio looks amazing - when do you have to submit it?_

_Simon_

_3rd July_

_Si,_

_Don't worry - how did the rest of them go?_

_Your comment about Smyth made me laugh a lot._

_~~Frye, do you reme~~ All good poems._

_Thanks, I still have a lot I need to do. The deadline is in two weeks._

_Kieren_

_4th July_

_This is horrible without you. Sometimes I miss you so much, I want to come back to that awful school._

_13th July_

_Simon,_

_Haven't heard from you in awhile - everything alright?_

_Sorry about that last message. I'm a fucking idiot._

_Kieren_

_15th July_

_Kieren,_

_~~I'm sorry we turned out~~ _

_~~I wish you were back here wi~~ _

_~~Sometimes I~~ _

_I'm sorry - I love you_

_18th July_

_Simon,_

_I sent off my portfolio yesterday. This was my end piece._

_Yours,_

_Kieren_

_22nd July_

 

_Kieren,_

 

_Graduation is in a week. Any chance you could come see me off? I'm doing the ceremony and it would be great to see you._

_Also that piece is beautiful, thank you._

 

_Yours,_

_Simon_

Simon pocketed the latest letter again, thumb skimming over the photo as he smiled once more. Despite the dark shadow of the Polaroid, Simon could still make out the vivid brush strokes, whites, greens, brilliant vertigos. Blue eyes gazing away with glints of silver and gold, a shy turn of the lips, flower petals seeming to shimmer in the hair among the twines and flourishes of arbutuses, daisies, violets, and stock. A pale neck stretched from the turn of the head, Simon's own figure turned away from him in the photo with an arm self-consciously curled about his exposed side.

Albeit, he was shocked when he first saw it - and so embarrassed he had hid the photo to his chest straight after uncovering it - but over the past few weeks it had grown to become something of a lucky charm. The Simon in the painting was ethereal, fey, distant from his actual clumsy figure but he was flattered that that was Kieren's perception of him, and the thought that Kieren must have poured over the piece for hours, perhaps days, to perfect it for his portfolio sent a thrill through his body. His fingers hesitated over the individual flowers again, feeling the blush tinge his cheeks.

As he heard a group of boys approaching, Simon slid the photo back into his blazer pocket subtly and pulled his attention to the opposite of the hall, watching the various bodies flow in and out. The assembly wasn't quite starting just yet, the mix of students, parents, and teachers chatting endlessly into a thrum. A year ago, he had envisioned his father standing at his side, smiling, proud perhaps. But then again, he had been one susceptible to denial.

"Oi, handsome, get this down you."

Amy pushed a paper plate into his hands, smiling knowingly, before stuffing a pork pie in her mouth. Simon made a face.

"Lady-like as always."

Amy grinned, swallowing her mouthful down. "You know me."

Simon inhaled deeply, looking round the room openly. After Amy had caught him not-so-subtly looking earlier, he'd kind of lost all sense of shame. Searching for that familiar red-head... Simon felt his heart beat faster at just the thought, but he shoved the feeling down - he tried to regain that rationality he once had. Kieren had never responded saying he was coming and to expect he would was idiotic. But he could hope. He could hope.

"I think he'll come." Amy mused with a mouthful of pasty, "Kieren Walker doesn't back away from a fight."

Simon had to laugh at that, "Not always, anyway when did you two get so close?"

Amy stiffened slightly, looking sheepishly into her food, before stating airily. "Letters can be marvellous things."

For a moment, Simon felt genuinely frustrated with her until he realised that she was well within her right to befriend Kieren; especially when they'd hit it off so well. Perhaps it was the thought that Amy and Kieren might have been talking _about_ him that unsettled Simon; embarrassing childhood stories, habitual ticks, worse - _pictures._

"He actually wrote to me first, apologising. I think he thought that I was gonna hunt him down and kill him after what he did which I mean, I _did_ consider but then I couldn't decide what method I wanted to off him with - a _cricket bat_ seemed like a good idea but then I'd get blood on my dress and that's _never_ a good - "

"Amy," Simon laughed, shaking his head, "Please don't kill him."

Amy sighed heavily, drawing out her sorrow, "I kn-ow. I haven't, by the way, just in case you were starting to worry." She gave him a lopsided grin, "I just wanted you to know that he was just as... well... _heartbroken_."

Simon stiffed, painful memories already flashing through his mind; having to walk back to his room alone, the sketch scrunched in his fist, the nights lying awake, stifling sobs into his pillow that still had his lingering scent. Kieren's presence in his room had been so overwhelming for the first week of his absence that Simon had been constantly on the brink of setting it all alight. Soon after, exams had started and he had fallen back into his painful monotony.

The beatings hadn't stopped like Kieren had hoped. They were less frequent, he would admit that now, but no less brutal and the lack of a certain pair of arms to hush away the pain made the process of dealing with it a whole lot worse. He could never let Kieren know that. Even if he had been on the point of writing it all down, at the beginning of July, he just couldn't crush Kieren that way. He'd had less than a month to deal with all the other boys and then he'd be out of there. On a train, with cases packed, and out of there.

Somewhere along the way, Simon had stopped thinking of Kieren as a coward for running away, and started seeing his actions as incredibly brave. Stupid, maybe, but brave. The nail was hit on the head when he had received the last picture, all that declaration of faithfulness in one image, and Simon knew that leaving him behind had been excruciatingly hard for Kieren. He had burdened himself with all that fresh pain in order to make things ultimately better; not just for Simon, but himself too, and Simon could accept that. He still hurt, but he could understand now, and he had learnt.

All too soon, Simon became aware that staff were hustling everyone into the main hall. Once again, he threw his gaze about in desperation before having to settle on the realisation that, no, Kieren had not come - and he tried, he _tried_ to understand.

Amy rubbed a reassuring hand on his back. "I'm sorry, beau. Maybe he couldn't make it."

Simon took a deep breath, clearing out his mind and lungs of all the gripping nerves that had begun to form. "It's okay. He doesn't have to come back here anymore. Anyway," Simon smiled weakly, "This day is for me."

She smiled warmly in return, reaching up to kiss his cheek, and squeezed him into a hug. "That's the spirit! I'm sure you'll knock 'em dead."

Simon sniggered, the feeling of empowerment from the words he clutched in his hand raked through his body. "I probably will."

At that moment, a teacher called out to him and ushered him into another room. Amy waved encouragingly as he disappeared behind a door, and at her support Simon smiled a little wider. Once this was all over, he vowed he'd buy her flowers and spend some proper time with her.

"Ready, Mr Monroe?" The headmaster patted his shoulder once as he went past, nodding as Simon replied with an affirmative, and entered the hall. Simon stared ahead at the backstage door, breathing slowly as the chatter from outside faded from his mind. This was it now. This moment was his, and he'd be damned if he didn't use it _incredibly_ unwisely. At his reckless thoughts, he smiled to himself and thought of the individual who had inspired him so.

A teacher nudged him gently from behind and Simon mounted the steps onto the stage, unfolding the speech as he went. The paper felt heavy beneath his fingers for a second until he was in front of the microphone and then everything seemed to slip away.

Faces gazed back at him; indifferent, focused, curious, snide. Faces that had haunted him, some who had been friendly. Faces that were as ingrained in his mind as the scratches on the grey stone floors and curling awnings. In the contours of their cheeks and brows were the slate roofs, the black silhouetted spires, and the taste of communion wine. They were bound in memory, vicious, distorted, but solid, grounded, maybe even something like home. Seven years had passed away from their cheeks and jaws, their tiny bodies growing strong enough to stride, lift, hit. Their futures were partings from this place, laces on a web that may connect them or snap with time. A part of Simon wished for many to drift from him and, at this very moment, Simon felt himself holding the knife to cut them away.

"My time at St Mary's was one of upmost honour, pride, and diligence. In my seven years, I have learnt so many things as a result of the support here and I know my personal growth from this moment forward has been thoroughly rooted in the dedication and effort given by this school. For this, I have many people to thank. My teachers, my fellow classmates, parents, friends. I discovered who I am, and who I would like to be, within these walls and classrooms: kind, responsible, definitely not a morning person -" Chuckles rippled throughout the hall, "learning always to bring knee-pads to morning mass, eating chocolate before choir is definitely _not_ a good plan, " Another laugh rumbled, "And also that I'm gay."

Here, Simon paused, staring levelly into the crowd of hushed gasps and shocked faces.

"I fell in love here, and while it was here at St Mary's that I had spent six years of my life believing I was sick and wrong for who I was, I spent one where I didn't. It was here at St Mary where I was taught that loving him was a choice - a choice that would damn my soul to Hell. But you see, it was here at St Mary's that I met him, fell in love with him, and began a relationship with him. It was here in these very halls and corridors where I felt more alive with his hand in mine, than a prayer book. He had suffered something unspeakable because of this teaching that people like him, people like _me_ , choose who we love."

Teachers had begun to stand, calling for him to stop but he simply spoke louder.

"But this teaching is wrong. God made me like this because this is who I am, and to shame me for who I am is the worse sin. And so today, it is time to say goodbye to these walls. These hallways and these faces. Time to move forward with our heads held high."

It was at this point where the headmaster himself was storming through the uproar of the crowd, crimson in the face. He tore the microphone away just as Simon snatched his scroll from the table and made his way off the stage.

"Well, Mr Monroe, do you have any final words before you are removed from campus?"

The air in his body was catching sparks, he was breathing as if the ocean was flooding his lungs and the brine was rasping his throat. Jumping off the stage, feeling like he was buoyant in the sea of people, with his certificate clasped in his hand, Simon's wings were spread. He was out of this place, the chains cut from his blistered feet, and he was dragging the walls down brick by grey brick. Glimpsing a pair of familiar brown eyes from the back of the hall, Simon felt himself grin.

"Undead Prophet, go fuck yourself."

And he did what he did best: he _ran_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon you big drama queen.
> 
> There will be an epilogue (which will appear in the next few days aha) and I want to thank everyone for the birthday messages and kudos! You are all wonderful <3
> 
> If anyone is curious, I was inspired by [Parker Fitzgerald and Riley Messina's Overgrowth project](http://overgrowth.bigcartel.com/) for Kieren's portfolio and specifically a mixture of these [two](http://www.theartfuldesperado.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/Overgrowth-photo-by-Parker-Fitzgerald-4.jpg) [pieces](http://www.theartfuldesperado.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/Overgrowth-Photo-by-Parker-Fitzgerald-3.jpg) for Simon's portrait :)


	6. Epilogue

_ah kingly kiss -_

_no more regret_

_nor old deep memories_

_to mar the bliss_

The tube shuddered along, metal bars clanging against the carriage, and there was a hiss as the brakes were dragged into motion. Various commuters swayed at change of momentum. The thick heat from the underground gathering beads of sweat on their brows and at the back of their necks, one or two brushing the drops away, sighing. Grey suits blurred as the rush hour crowds poured through the doors and soon the carriage was rolling away again.

Simon removed his parka, his blazer clinging to his torso underneath, and rearranged himself on his seat. His students had worked him hard today; their discussions vibrant and animated as they had discussed the reading that week, and Simon had come away with some seeds for his own work. He'd make sure to type them up later.

Removing his glasses and dropping the case into his satchel, Simon rubbed the fatigue away from his eyelids. It was only when they fluttered open again at the next station that an advertisement drew his focus. A gallery, with familiar looking portraits and floral bursts, before the carriage was in motion again and everything disappeared into a blur.

In his dreamy, half-awake state, Simon's next breath felt chilled.

Twelve years had passed since he'd moved to London and started a philosophy degree, graduating eight years ago and starting teaching after another four. He'd begun anew among the white lights and starless city, uprooted and in freefall from his dramatic exit. Somehow he'd reached the surface, all gasping in the new air and ready to _live_.

Thinking of that gallery, Simon unconsciously pressed a hand through the fabric of his blazer, feeling the rigid edges of the photo that lay beneath. To be honest, Simon wasn't entirely sure why he still carried the thing around; the edges were bitten and yellowed with age. Simon's figure - now sturdier and solid - bore no resemblance to his adolescent, lean frame nor his soft, innocent face that was now enclosed by a beard and strong jaw. Yet the romance of that portrait was a silver thread from his past he longed not to cut. A flickering light in that darkness, one could say.

At his stop, Simon jumped over the gap and zipped through the ticket gates to burst into the winter chill. Gulping in the frosty air after the claustrophobic tube, Simon shrugged back into his coat and made his way idly back to his flat. Blue skies stretched overhead and Simon's breath fogged into the early afternoon sunshine, rubbing his hands against the cold. He mentally made a list of all the groceries he needed to pick up the next day as each foot clacked on the stone pavement, but his mind soon trailed to the weekend morning, warm sheets, lazy kisses, and breakfast in bed.

Unlocking the old green door, groaning on its hinges as it swung forwards, Simon called out before he'd even stepped over the threshold. Smiling at the light studio flat, with its array of books cluttering the tables and peeling wallpaper, Simon discarded his bag on the tattered sofa turned his attention to the battered moleskin that had been left open on the coffee table. Brushing his fingertips against the curling pages, Simon slipped the photo of Kieren's painting between the last slips of paper. Filled to the point of eruption over the years, Simon never forgot to add to the scrapbook.

A waft of something like coffee and bread lingered in the air as Simon hung up his coat in the hallway. Stretching his neck from side to side, Simon smiled as he heard the echoing crackle of the radio and a broken singing voice amongst the clacking of a knife against the chopping board. Padding into the kitchen, Simon dropped his tie on one of the chairs and picked his top button undone.

Curling himself around the warm body, Simon pressed his lips to the other man's exposed shoulder. At the other's laughter, he nudged his nose into the crook of his neck and smiled. There were flecks of blue and green paint in his light hair today.

"Welcome home, doe-eyes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it, the end.
> 
> I know this was a super short ending, but thank you all for sticking with me to the end and I hope you all enjoyed it.  
> I may be tempted to write a few oneshots in the future for this universe but for now, the book is closed :)
> 
> I would like to particularly thank [kirrenwalker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kirrenwalker/pseuds/kirrenwalker) (aka Pia) for being my beta; your help and support was much needed! Most of all, thank all of you so much for your kudos and comments, it does not go unappreciated! <3


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